


Secret Sandor

by Ladeeknight



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bodyguard, Christmas Smut, F/M, Joffrey Baratheon is His Own Warning, Secret Santa, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:28:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21888175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladeeknight/pseuds/Ladeeknight
Summary: It's Sevenmas season in Kingslanding. Sandor draws Sansa's name out of scarred old Hound's helm and all sorts of chaos breaks loose.
Relationships: Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 25
Kudos: 131





	1. Chapter 1

Secret Sandor  
Sandor stared at the scrap of paper in his hand in abject horror. He'd been to war and had half his fuckng face burned off, but the swirling purple name with the tail of it turned into a heart, was the most terrifying thing outside of an open flame he'd ever seen.  
Previous to this Sandor had not given a fuck about the Secret Seven Exchange, or Sevenmas, or anything else outside of keeping his job. He'd planned to fold a 25 dragon note in a piece of paper and flick it at whichever bastard was unlucky enough to pluck his name out of the mandatory gifting pool. But here he stood with the scrap of paper bearing his cunt boss's girlfriend's name, and not a clue for how to proceed.  
"Hey big man, someone slip one of the Queens' names in there? You look like you've seen a ghost. Step back and let the rest of us receive our sentences."  
Sandor scowled over his shoulder at the loud mouth asshole, who thought he was way more clever that he could ever actually be. "Piss off," he grated, as he stepped away from the evil looking antique helm the names were being pulled from. His boss loved the ugly metal that had been twisted into a snarling hound's visage. One of the ears had been snapped off, bit the hideous old thing had been polished to a high shine. It was the prize in a collection of wicked looking souvenirs from the War of Three Queens, which oddly ended in a crippled king sitting as the last ass to sit the iron throne. Ironic that the little bugger had to be carried, Sandor thought as he limped back to his place in the circle of doomed people either awaiting their fates or contemplating the choices in life that had lead the to veil of sorrow that was this fucking shit show of a company. The fact that the boss collected war memorabilia from a conflict his family line barely made it out of really said all that needed saying about this cluster fuck of a working environment.  
Maybe at a normal place of business the Secret Seven Ceremony was not a minefield of ways to get the ax, but at Lannister Corp you could get fired for getting the wrong person the wrong gift. Hell even the right gift. Last year Sansa's name had been drawn by her own assistant. Sweet, but none too bright brunette had procured a cutting from a Weirwood shipped in from the North. The redhead's sparking blue eyes lit up with such longing as to outshine the moonstone necklace that Joff had gotten for her. The assistant was soon transferred to a satellite office in the North to work under a real mother fucker called Ramsy Bolten. The stories about that bastard was running the poor girl ragged were enough to turn his stomach.  
One thing was for danmed sure, if Sandor wanted to keep his miserable job bodyguarding Joff, he'd have to find something to make the company's pretty princess happy, but not too happy. And he did want to keep his job, miserable as it was because that was the only way to ensure he was always there to step in when Joff was feeling petulant.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little bit of dream smut for your nye.

Sansa squinted at the name she pulled from the terrifying helm. Dark blocky letters and an ink blot where the first pen was clearly not strong enough to survive the annoyance of the man holding it.  
This could be it, her heart sang, as she folded up the paper with a neutral smile pasted to her face. This could be her chance to get a message to Sandor in a way that Joff wouldn't think to check or intercept. Her mind was racing though her foot steps back to the ring of employees gathered around the helm were even and measured as befits a lady. The exchange took place next week at the office Christmas party, which devolved into a drunken mess last year, and from what she'd heard every other year, as well.  
Sandor was not exactly known for his sobriety, but being drunk didn't seem to inhibit his mind or his body the way that it did Joff's other lackies. Sansa wondered idlly for a moment, if it was because Sandor's body was so much bigger and muscular than everyone else's.  
Sansa had first noticed that fact back when she was still a stupid child besotted with Joff. How could I fail to see that a person who encouraged his employees too fight to unconsciousness in the employee gym was a nut bar? Sansa questioned herself bitterly looking back on the child who had been taken in by Joff's smooth-talking mimicry of all the songs she loved best. What's done is done, she reminded herself. You've wallowed long enough. Time to do something about it. This coupled with her dream from last night…  
Sansa had been trying to put the dream out of her mind all morning without much success as certain bits of her were still tingling. The dream had been set in the godwood. She had been kneeling before the heart tree in prayer when a piece if it's white trunk became a huge warrior in long cloak. He'd worn the snarling helm everyone was drawing names from while Sansa his frim the world in her dream. In that dream, armor scraped and rasped as the warrior came to stand obscenely close to where she was kneeling. A battle scarred hand reached down and dragged Sansa up by the front of her dress.  
In the dream Samsa hadn't been scared at all. She reached up to remove the twisted angry dog's helm only to find the similarly twisted and scarred visage of Sandor Clegane. This was not the first time Sanda had dreamt of him and she knew just what to do. Cupping either cheek she leaned in. He flinched back from her, and she stopped.  
"Don't you want to be kissed?"  
"Thought you were gonna head but me."  
"Oh silly man." Sansa said as she pressed her lips to his.  
He opened his mouth to her and she delved into him, tasting his insecurities and shame. They were salty and her instinct was to sweeten their connection with honeyed words. In that moment his hand came up to grip her backside with all the force of his brutal, unyielding honesty. It both hurt and pleased her as Sansa strove to embrace Sandor exactly as he was.  
As can only happen in dreams, there was nothing between them. His dark curling chest hair brought her nipples to startled erect attention. His rock hard member was gliding through her slick swollen folds only needing the slightest tilt of her hips to thrust home. Sansa arched against the sensations her head thrown back in ecstacy.  
An iron grip on her face pulled her gaze down to meet Sandor's tortured eyes. "Look at me! I will take you, but you have to look at me. See me."  
Sansa was swallowed by the pain in his eyes so that she no longer saw his scars. It was an ugly and angry thing, not totally unlike the thing inside of Joff. But there was something honest about Sandor's beast, where Joff's was sly. "I choose the honorable monster," Sansa affirmed as she reached between them and guided his manhood into herself.  
Suddenly she was full to bursting. She could feel him everywhere and she liked it. Sansa became a mad thing as she sqirmed and writhed against him seeking her pleasure.  
Looking back that should have been the first clue she was dreaming. Joff had trained her to lay still and await the pleasure he may or may not deign to bestow upon her, often making her flatter and beg him. But in the dream she had pursued her pleasure to such a degree that she put her hand down to feel where Sandor was thrusting into her. And there above her opening was her clit. She pressed that lovely little joy button and her world shattered.  
Literally, for she awoke to Joff's wormy lipped face entirely too close to hers. Thankfully he was still snoring for Sansa's hand was indeed pressed to her clit and her body had still been quivering and clenching against an aching emptiness. Sansa jammed the knuckles of her other hand between her teeth to try to lock in her keening moan. She was not wholly successful and Joff began to stir.  
She flew from the bed to the bathroom and locked the door. That had not always saved her from Joff's attentions, but she suspected he was fucking his new secretary. Which was fine with Sansa. Anything that kept him from her, was just fine. As she readied herself for the day putting on her armor of make up and hair products a flame of hope kindled.  
The scrap of paper with Sandor's name had been gasoline for that fire. As she stood in the ring of people choosing names for gifting Sansa made up her mind, and started laying her plans for the party...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that i can never get a holiday thing out during it's holiday. It all seems so clear in my head and the real life holiday takes over.  
> I don't know how many of you have seen Die Hard, but this is going to be a little bit like that. I may even lift sme lines from the movie because i love them so much.  
> Let me know what you think.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa trims a tree and Sandor...paints his shower...? I promise it will make sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The people around me think I'm crazy to still be listening to Christmas music this last in January. Telling them It helps put me in the mood does not make it any less weird.

Sansa sang a Sevenmas tune under her breath as she hung ornaments representing the Seven upon the little potted Weir Wood tree that her old assistant Jayne had given her last Sevenmas. As Sansa affixed a purple ribbon upon one of the tree's pale, slender branches, a fresh wave of disbelief that Jayne had embezzled money from the company washed over her. It was said in the North that man could not tell a lie before a Heart Tree. This was not the first time that intuition had struck Sansa while she was in contact with the thriving little tree. In fact, her first moment of clarity concerning Joffrey had come at last year's party. The look of sneering disgust on his face when he saw that her gift had been a "house plant" demonstrated that they did not value the same things.

That seed of truth had begun to snowball quickly. The only thing that grew more rapidly in Sansa's mind was the certainty that it would not be safe for her to leave, she recalled as she hung a small Crone's lantern on one of the trees pale branches. Joff had always been clingy and possessive. At first, Sansa's romantic sensibilities lit up with delight at his jealousy. Her face fired with shame as she hung the Stranger's mask. Joff's obsession with her every move necessitated the great lengths to cause a distraction. _I did what I had to do,_ she thought as she hung the Smith's hammer.

"White Sevenmas" began to play. There was no chance of that in Kings Landing, but as Sansa went over the mental checklist of her week's preparations since she'd drawn Sandor's name from the helm, a chilly smiled played around her lips; white Sevenmases were a given in the North. Sansa hung a pair of linked rings to represent the Mother and Father and thought of her own parents. After all that had transpired, she might no longer be welcome in the North, but she was ready to risk a cold rebuff from her once-beloved family, over the hell that following hot passion had landed her in. And if Sansa had to serve the Warrior for a little while, so be it. A fractured image from her dream floated up to her as she hung the small dagger from the tree.

Tomorrow night was the party. If she survived it, her life would be drastically different. If she didn't, at least she would be beyond Joffrey's control.  
…  
The music in the millionth fucking store he'd been in grated on Sandor's last nerve. He hated shopping, and he was not good at it. It seemed even harder because what he really wanted to give Sansa was Joff's head on a spike. He'd seen Sansa trying to do up an extra button on her blouse the other day to hide a vicious "love" bite when Joff threatened to rip the shirt to her navel and make her walk with her tits out for everyone to see. The blonde cunt had told her that if she was going to act like a whore in her dreams, then he'd be happy to make those dreams come true, as a good fiancé should. It had taken everything Sandor had and a slight shake of Sansa's head to keep from twisting Joff's head off and throwing it out the high-rise window just to see if he could hear the sound of bone-shattering against pavement, or if the ground was too far away.

After that episode being in the hustle and bustle of shoppers did not seem safe. Sandor turned for home glad of the brisk wind blowing his lank dark hair out of his face. A similarly inappropriate gift idea presented itself in the form of a stunning set of lacy bits and bobs that he saw on a mannequin outside a store he would never set foot in.

Sandor hastened his step to something just under a jog. His handsome salary afforded him a posh apartment in the heart of downtown Kings Landing. This was particularly useful to him today as walking was becoming more and more uncomfortable as increasingly vivid images of Sansa unclad in not but lace scraps were assailing him with increasing frequency.

Upon arrival, home Sandor began shucking his clothing on the way the bathroom. He caught the briefest glimpse of his scared, naked and erect body in the mirror before turning his broad back on his worst enemy. Sandor reached into the glassed-in marble temple where he got most of his action and slapped the hot water tap open. He looked down at his now painfully hard dick and shook his head. "I don't know which of us is stupider," he told the offending. Unbidden it bobbed in agreement as the idea of Sansa joining him in the shower made his nuts contract in delight. He'd love to hear the sound she'd make if he pushed her up against the cold tile and shoved his cock in her. Said member agreed again with another aching bob.  
By now, the steam was pouring out of the shower into the bathroom. Sandor took himself in hand as he walked into the glass-enclosed space. He made a precise adjustment to the cold water knob with one hand while he idly stroked his knob with the other. Sandor wanked for a five-count, then stepped under the hot stream. The water felt delicious washing away all the holiday hypocrisy that he'd trudged through in the stores. He very much wanted to lather soap all over him to complete that cleansing, but another louder, messier need was calling hand he didn't want to wash up twice.

Sandor closed his eye and took a firmer grip on himself. He brought the image of Sansa in the lace to mind. She'd worn it into the shower like a very naughty girl. He reached his hand out and snapped the strap that stretched over her sumptuously round ass. The little squeal of delight she issued made his dick leak with need to be inside her. He tugged harder.

In his fantasy, Sandor hit his knees in front of Sansa, turning her to face him. He nuzzled the triangle of lace, covering the fiery curls over her cunt before taking the beautiful costly material in his teeth and tearing it away. The sound Sansa made at that was low and urgent, but not one of dismay. She dug her nails into his scalp, pushing his face more firmly between her legs. Sandor went willingly licking and sucking until her body went rigid with pleasure, and she moaned his name.  
In his shower, Sandor's arm was pumping his cock so hard that it was a wonder his neighbors could not hear the wet slaps. Every muscle in his body was taut with the need for release as he worked his hand up and down his hard, swollen shaft. As he imagined Sansa's sweet voice crying his name in pleasure, Sandor painted the glass of his shower with ropes of cum, each wave of jizz leaving his dick in a scorching burst of pleasure.

In his mind's eye, Sansa was on the floor of his shower, licking Sandor clean of his is own passion, even as the real Sandor leaned sated against the glass of his shower. He ran his thumb over the too sensitive head over his cock savoring the last shivers of his orgasm with a secret smile playing over his lips as his trembling legs slowly lowered his huge hairy body to the floor of the shower.

…

In the end, the gift he got for her did not come from a store, but from his own closet. It now resided in a bright bag that he'd picked up at the corner store, thanking his lucky fucking stars that that form of wrapping was socially acceptable. His thick fingered hands were really only good for violence, and he'd make a mess out of anything as delicate as folding and taping.

He carried the bag a bit self consciously through the opulent confines of the office in wee hours of the morning. He knew where all the cameras were, so he stayed out of their sweep. This gift, with Sansa name scrawled on the bag's little tag was as good as a letter of resignation, but at this point, Sandor was unsure if he cared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still not done. It's probably gonna be a slow trickle. Tell me what you think is in the bag?


End file.
